Final Hours
by SpecialAgentZiva
Summary: There's tears running down her face, tears that should be clear but are instead mixed with blood. As they fall to the floor, she can only think of them as signs. The end is near. - rated T for a reason.


**A/N: Well, this is a little dark. I kind of just followed the train of thought, and this is where it led me. So, enjoy? If you can?**

**I don't own NCIS.**

_And in their final hours, there's nothing she can do but sit and cry._

She's screaming for him. She's been screaming for him for so long, but he can't hear her. No one can.

There's tears running down her face, tears that should be clear but are instead mixed with blood. As they fall to the floor, she can only think of them as signs. The end is near.

There's so much she wishes she could have said. But now, as her voice grows hoarse and he still doesn't hear her, she can only wish he will die a quick, painless death. Yet she knows, somewhere deep inside, that this will not happen. They are not here to die easily. They are here to die hard.

She hates to give the satisfaction of screaming, because she knows it's what their captors want. She's only been screaming his name, but they know the anguish in her voice. She's in pain, even if it's not physical. Something tells her that perhaps, if she stops screaming, they will return him to her, but she cannot. Screaming his name allows her to cling to life, if only long enough to see him walk away alive.

So she doesn't stop screaming, and she doesn't stop crying, even as her vision begins to blur and her mind begins to fog.

* * *

He's not used to this. The moment the lights go on again, he's staring in the face of another man, one that he's begun to know so well. There's blood fogging his vision but he can make out the room around him, if only barely.

An unbearable pain surrounds him, and it's driving him to the edge. He closes his eyes and wills it all away, when he realizes there's something he's forgotten.

And he opens his mouth to scream, but no sound comes out. Tears form at the corner of his eyes as he stares furiously and desperately tries to scream, to make any sound, but nothing comes.

Through silent words and crying eyes, his message is clear. He's screaming her name, and with each passing moment his heart beats faster and his breath comes shallower, but he doesn't stop.

Screaming will not save her, he knows it. Especially now that he is saying no words, only staring directly at his captor. The tears are coming faster now, mingling with his blood, a steady stream of off-red rushing down his face. His voice is growing hoarse, his eyes are growing tired.

But he doesn't stop screaming, and he doesn't stop crying, even as his breath threatens to slow and his heart threatens to stop.

* * *

She can't remember when she stopped screaming. She can't remember when the tears dried on her face. She can't remember anything but black on black and red on red, as her world crumbles around her. She thinks of the knife in the corner, thinks of it and wonders if it would help to end it all, but then she thinks of him and she resists. She must know if he is alive. She must save him.

She doesn't know what time it is when the door opens to her cell, and she can't remember how long it was before he was tossed inside, his body hitting the floor in a puff of dust. She only remembers rushing to him, her mind screaming his name but her lips unmoving.

He stares up at her, eyes wide and blank. It's like he's not here anymore - not _him_ as she knew him, anyway. The green stares into brown and she can't help but start to cry again, her salty tears falling onto his burning wounds. There's only one second when she swears that he recognizes, and then it all seems to stop.

Her mind is blurred when she lets him go. Her mind isn't right when she picks up the knife, and it never will be again. The tears stop and the screaming in her mind stops, replaced by a deadly calm. With one more anguished look, she remembers her promise years ago.

She promised herself she'd never be taken alive.

Only death could be her saviour.

* * *

They arrive too late. They arrive kicking and screaming and shooting, but they arrive too late. They can see the blood on the walls and they know it's bad, but they cannot even imagine. They don't want to.

When they enter the room, the world stops around them, and tears burn in their eyes. She's sitting in the corner - dead by her own hand - and he's laying on the floor, eyes blank. And then they notice.

He's breathing. Slowly, but surely he's breathing. Screams of "agent down!" and "call 911!" echo around the room, but two agents are still deathly silent. They stare, processing the scene in front of them, but they don't let themselves realize. They don't let themselves hope.

Later, they find she was being driven to insanity. Or, so they guess, because they could have never thought of her dying this way. She was a hero. She was a fighter. She wouldn't have done anything so drastic… would she?

He lives, but he wakes in the night, screaming her name, and they only fear for what will happen in the future. His wounds are getting worse, day by day, and the doctors fear they cannot save him. They are right.

On his final day, however, he is at peace. He cannot speak anymore, but he can cry, and the tears run down his face before his eyes slip closed and his breathing ceases. They know he is at peace, but they can only think, if they had gotten there sooner, they would have both lived.

If they had gotten there sooner, she would have saved him.


End file.
